


i can be the subject of your dreams

by vividlyy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), First Time, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, M/M, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Riding, Top Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-13 17:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12989292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vividlyy/pseuds/vividlyy
Summary: Dark eyes lined in black smother at him from under even darker lashes, pale skin flushed in surprise and indignation, and Lance knows he’s gone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my first work on here? better make it porn hell yeah
> 
> title from troye sivan's song "bite" !

Standing in the middle of a sea of grinding, sweaty bodies, Lance knows he’s screwed up.

It was a heat-of-the-moment decision, coming here tonight, with Pidge goading him until he gave in and marched through the door of the nearest gay club with a fake ID clenched in his fist.

He isn’t ready for this, not in the least, having just revealed his preference for cocks over cunts only a week ago and knowing that the most intimate thing he’s ever done with another human being is hold hands. He curses his luck for having nothing but satanic friends and turns to find his way back to the door before he does something incredibly stupid.

A hand to his chest stops him in his tracks. He blinks, unsure of what to do amidst the flashing lights and pounding music, and locks eyes with a tall, broad-shouldered man at least half a decade older than him, wearing clothes that leave nothing to the imagination.

“Are you lost?” The man moves close enough for Lance to feel his breath against his cheek. “I’ve never seen you here before. I would’ve remembered you.”

Lance can feel his heart pounding hard against his ribs. He should step back, excuse himself, and bolt from this place he knows he doesn’t belong. But he only stands there, still as a pole, and waits.

The man’s hand trails to his elbow, curving around it to tug him in the direction of the bar. “Let me buy you a drink, hm?" Lance lets himself be steered to the bar, already feeling drunk off all the noise and the tight tight clothes and the lights that make his temples pound.

With a jerk, Lance feels himself sit down, staring wide-eyed at the half-full glasses lining the countertop and the chatter of other young men standing by his every side. The thump of a new, full glass right in front of him pulls his attention away, and without thinking, he lifts it to his lips with a grimace.

In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposes. The alcohol slides down his throat with a tingling burn, spreading through his blood like a drop of dye in water. He shudders.

The man who bought him his first drink beckons to the bartender, pressing close enough for Lance to smell his too-sweet cologne. “Another.” He cocks a grin at Lance. “D’you have a name, honey?”

“Eli,” Lance lies, priding himself on his smooth reply, and snags his second glass from the counter. Once again, he knocks it back in one shot, and relishes in the way the taste seems to linger over his skin even after he’s swallowed.

He feels a hand against the small of his back, caressing, as the man leans closer. “Whoa, there, take it easy,” he says, but the grin’s still there. “Don’t want to pass out in a place like this.”

Lance shrugs, still unsure of what to do with this man who clearly intends to take him home and fuck him stupid, if the fingers that are now skirting across his tailbone and dipping past the waistband of his jeans are any indication.

But Lance doesn’t particularly feel like losing his virginity to someone who could very well go to jail for it, so he jerks away from the suggestive touch and scrambles off his chair. Without looking up, he says, “Sorry,” and slips back into the anonymity of the crowd.

With enough alcohol in his system to give zero shits about the fact that he had no idea where he’s going, Lance weaves mindlessly across the dancefloor. He lets the thump of the music and the streaks of light coloring the walls guide his feet—that is, until he crashes into someone hard enough to nearly knock the both of them to the floor.

Lance catches himself just in time and blindly throws his arms out, hoping to catch the unfortunate guy he’s almost sent into an early grave, and feels nails dig into his shoulder in response. _“Fuck,_ I—” Lance cuts himself off; his tongue’s suddenly lost all ability to function.

Dark eyes lined in black smother at him from under even darker lashes, pale skin flushed in surprise and indignation, and Lance knows he’s gone.

Swallowing, he rights himself and tells himself to take a step back, to give this stranger some space, but his body won’t comply.

The dark eyes flicker over Lance’s face and blaze a path down his body. Lance blushes, hard, and has the wild notion that he’s currently being mentally undressed.

Thin, pale lips curve up in a smirk, and the hand on Lance’s shoulder slides up to rake through his hair and pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” is whispered into his ear, and Lance has all of two seconds to decide what to do when he’s let go and the stranger turns to press his back against Lance’s chest, close enough that Lance can feel his own heartbeat in his ears.

Lance’s mouth falls open on a startled moan as hips grind down hard against his and an arm snakes around the back of his neck. Embarrassed, Lance bites his lip hard enough to draw blood and focuses on the slender line of his partner’s neck, glistening under the lights that sweep over the crowd at random. He has the sudden urge to drag his tongue over that sweat-slicked skin, sink his teeth in deep enough to make a mark and prove that he’d been there, that he’d claimed, that he’d taken.

A head falls back on his shoulder, dark eyes half-lidded as they lock with his, pupils blown wide. Their hips push against each other in continuous gyrating motions, over and over and over in a dirty, filthy grind. As he watches, a pink tongue sweeps over a bottom lip, and Lance is painfully aware of how tight his jeans are, how hot he feels under all his clothes, how much he wants to devour the stranger under him.

The arm around the back of his neck tugs, and in the next second there’s a tongue sliding wetly along his. He groans, low in his throat, and feels more than hears an answering moan. He feels the tongue flicking at his teeth, the roof of his mouth, and it’s sloppy and careless and _so fucking hot._

Growing bold, he anchors his hands to the hips moving against his and grinds his fully hard cock into the clothed ass of his partner, smug when he receives a pleased moan in return.

When his partner finally pulls back, Lance blinks, still lost in the hazy pleasure of their filthy dancing. He can’t tear his gaze from the lips he’d just been kissing, shining slick and swollen in the flashing lights.

 _Beautiful,_ Lance thinks, dizzy. _He’s beautiful._

“Want to get out of here?” his partner asks, body still wound tight around Lance’s, and Lance couldn’t have done anything in that moment but nod.

He gets a brilliant smile in return and, before he knows it, is being pulled into the stinging cold air of the night. He blinks again.

They half-walk, half-sprint the eight blocks to the nearest motel. In the time it takes to get there, Lance is slammed against a wall and kissed senseless at least three times (he loses count after that) and Lance is inebriated enough to not only go along with it, but also kiss back just as forcefully, never mind that they’re out in the open for all eyes to see. By the time they arrive at the door of their room, Lance’s lips have gone numb and his cock is so hard it _hurts_.

As his partner scrambles for the key, Lance thinks it’s a good time to blurt out, “I’m Lance, by the way.”

The key is located and shoved into the lock with more force than necessary. Dark eyes, still lined with black that’s beginning to smudge around the edges, flicker to meet his.

“Keith,” his partner says, yanking them into the room and kicking the door shut, and Lance finds himself pressed against yet another wall. They kiss, almost desperately, before Keith breaks away to sink down to his knees.

Lance almost collapses right then and there. _“God,”_ he breathes, and watches Keith slide the zipper of his jeans down and lick his lips, maintaining eye contact the whole way.

Lance feels his breath catch in his throat; he can’t look away.

Keith pushes the waistband of his pants and boxers down far enough for his cock to finally spring free from its confines, the tip brushing Keith’s chin as it does so. Keith eyes it, licks his lips once more before moving in to wrap them around the head of Lance’s cock.

Lance fights to keep his legs from collapsing as Keith takes him deeper, the tip bumping the back of his throat, tongue stroking along the underside like he’s done this a thousand times before—and maybe he has. Whatever the case, Lance loses the ability to form coherent thought as his entire world narrows down to the hot, slick heat around his length, his hips twitching as he restrains the urge to buck mindlessly into it.

But Keith clearly has other plans; he pulls Lance’s hands away from where he has them pressed against the wall and places them on his head instead, fits his hands into the curve of Lance’s hipbones, flicks a beckoning look up through his long lashes.

“You look good.” The words slip out unintentionally, and Lance’s face goes up in flames until he sees the look on Keith’s face—raw, unadulterated lust. “Yeah _—fuck—_ really good.”

Keith swallows around the tip of Lance’s cock, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile, and Lance gets the message.

He flexes his hands where they lay in Keith’s dark hair, then twists the strands around his fingers and gives a light tug. Eyelids fluttering, Keith moans softly in approval, and the vibrations around his cock draw a choked gasp from Lance. He lets go of all pretenses to be careful.

Later, he’d apologize for the almost brutal way he thrusts into Keith’s mouth as if it’s nothing more than a hole to fuck. But right now, with Keith’s lips tightening around his dick, cheeks hollowing, tongue dipping under the foreskin and rubbing across the throbbing vein that runs along the underside, Lance can think of nothing but chasing that electrifying pleasure that makes his toes curl and his head thud back against the wall.

“Sh-shit,” Lance manages to gasp out between the endless stream of groans tumbling from his throat unrestrained—he can see stars behind his eyelids—and when did he close his eyes? He forces them open to glance back down at Keith, at the dark, dark eyes, at the swollen lips red as blood, and watches, mesmerized, as Keith slips his own hand into his pants and strokes himself, fast.

That’s when Lance realizes he doesn’t want to come; not like this.

Lance pulls Keith off his cock, the pitiful whine Keith lets out very nearly convincing him to just shove it back in, and says, “I want to fuck you.”

He isn’t sure exactly when he’d gotten so bold, but the way Keith responds is well worth it.

Something flashes in those dark eyes as Keith stands back up, somehow managing to make the movement look graceful despite his mussed hair and the pants dangling off his hips. He takes two steps back until his legs hit the side of the bed, then sits down on the mattress to pull his jeans off.

Glancing up at Lance, who’s still slumped against the wall, he says, “Then fuck me.”

Lance scrambles to shuck the rest of his clothes off, his heart lodging in his throat when Keith lays back across the sheets, spreading his legs, wrapping thin fingers around his cock and pumping, slow and easy, like he has all the time in the world. All that pale skin blending into the white sheets, that dark hair fanning out on the pillow. Lance feels like he could die from the sight.

Instead, he takes a step forward, tentative at first, then practically lunges towards Keith when he sees the hint of a smile.

Their lips meet in a crushing kiss, Keith silently hooking his ankles around Lance’s waist after Lance fits himself between his legs, Lance knocking Keith’s hand aside to feel that satin-smooth skin for himself. Keith lets out a moan, breathy and hitching in all the right ways, and languidly rolls his hips up into Lance’s touch.

Lance reluctantly pulls away, shuddering when Keith instantly turns his attention to biting a mark into the side of Lance’s throat instead. “Do you have, uh,” he clears his throat, “stuff?”

Keith hums against his skin, tongue laving across the bruise Lance knows he’s made, and without a word presses something into Lance’s palm.

Looking down, Lance finds himself holding a small bottle of lube. He figures now isn’t a great time to ask when and where Keith had gotten ahold of it.

Even if Lance has never done anything remotely close to this before, he’s still a guy, and has watched plenty of porn, and knows the mechanics of what he’s supposed to do now. Yet, as he fumbles with popping the cap open and pouring a substantial amount of lube onto his fingers, Lance is painfully aware of how inexperienced he is. He doesn’t even want to think about how obvious it is to Keith, the guy he’s expected to _fuck_ in the next few minutes.

And Keith doesn’t look like the kind of person that’d settle for an okay performance. But soon that isn’t even the problem—Lance finds himself with an all-consuming urge to give Keith what he wants, what he _deserves,_ looking like that in the shadows of the room.

Instead of snapping at Lance for sitting there like an idiot, Keith only spreads himself out wider and waits, chest heaving against the sheets. He gazes silently up at Lance.

Lance shakes himself out of it—what is he doing? He has a beautiful stranger underneath him, pale skin flushed all the way down to his pretty cock, hard and leaking against his flat stomach, waiting for him and only him.

Lance sets his jaw, keeping his eyes locked on Keith’s face as he lowers slick fingers down between Keith’s legs. Keith bites his lip, hard, as Lance begins tracing circles around his rim, the tip of his middle finger pushing just enough to dip inside. He leaves it there for a moment, thumb pressing against the skin just behind Keith’s balls, before letting it slide further.

Keith clenches around the intrusion, the soft, slick heat making Lance’s stomach tighten as he unwittingly imagines what that heat will feel like around his cock. He groans, pushes deeper, rubs slow along Keith’s inner walls until he sees those thin lips part around a gasp.

“Good?” he asks, second finger edging in to join the first.

Keith’s mouth quivers against his; his hips twitch. “Mm, good.” Slender fingers slide across Lance’s back, nails scraping lightly, and Keith clenches down again, this time with purpose, his body sucking Lance’s fingers in like it never wants them to leave. And Lance can deal with that—he can still manage to focus on the task—but when Keith brushes his fingers over the throbbing length of Lance’s cock, Lance shakes so hard he has to squeeze his eyes shut to bring himself back under control.

When he opens them again, Keith’s looking at him with an absolutely diabolical gleam in his eye. His hand curls around Lance’s dick, just holding it in his palm for a moment, before he starts pulling, nice and firm, thumb rubbing across the tip to collect every drop of precome.

Lance swallows. He wants to be careful, he really does, because Keith seems so small under him and he really _really_ doesn’t want to screw this up. But when Keith’s jerking him off like that, warm and wet all around him, Lance figures he’s just asking for it.

He screws his fingers in harder, faster, almost growling with his growing impatience. And Keith likes it, maybe too much considering the way he’s grinding down against Lance’s hand, panting, sweat painting across his skin.

Then Lance crooks his fingers in a come hither motion, searching, and Keith’s back arches off the bed so high it can’t be comfortable, but the long moan he lets out tells Lance he isn’t complaining. Lance watches Keith twist in the sheets, captivated by the way his body bends, the way his hands fist the pillow under his head in mindless pleasure.

“God, _please,_ ” Keith says, the two words slurring together. His free hand slides down his body, past his cock, and Lance’s breath stutters when he feels Keith wiggle his own finger inside right alongside Lance’s.

Lance looks down between Keith’s legs, stunned, and nearly comes right then and there at the sight of Keith’s hole stretched wide around their three fingers as they fuck in and out, in and out, shining slick under the dim lights. He doesn’t have time to think, only see and feel and hear, when Keith suddenly grabs his wrist and pulls them both out.

“Ready,” he says, out of breath, and stares heavy-lidded at Lance.

“Condoms?”

Keith tilts his head in the direction of the nightstand; his fingers smooth their way down Lance’s chest. “Check in there.”

Trying hard not to seem too affected by Keith’s touch, Lance stretches to yank the drawer open and rifle through it, praying to any god who hasn’t already written him a ticket straight to hell that this dingy motel at least has _condoms_ to offer. He really doesn’t want to end this fairly satisfying night with a measly handjob.

When his fingers snag the corner of an unmistakable foil package, Lance lets out a sigh of relief and reclaims his place between Keith’s legs with the condom clutched in his hand.

Keith’s mouth curves into another smile and he laughs, soft and breathless. Lance’s heart flips inside his chest at the sound, and he’s afraid of what it might mean.

Shaking it off, Lance tears the wrapper open with his teeth, hasty when he rolls the condom on, unconcerned with putting on a show. His skin itches with the need to be inside Keith.

As he wipes the excess lube on his hand over the condom, Keith shifts further up the bed to turn over onto his stomach, but Lance stops him with a hand on his hip.

Keith slants a questioning look over his shoulder. Lance hesitates, suddenly embarrassed, and says, “I want to see your face.” He unconsciously moves his hand lower, smoothes it over the round curve of Keith’s ass and kneads into the flesh. “While we, you know.” He wants to cringe at how disgustingly sappy he sounds, but Keith only turns back over, silent, hitching his legs back around Lance’s waist.

Keith’s fingertips brush along his jaw, up the nape of his neck, and slide into his hair. For a moment they both look at each other, pressed close, breath mingling in the little space separating them.

It’s intimate enough that Lance has to remind himself to keep breathing.

Then Lance thumbs his cock down, Keith’s brow furrowing when the tip snags against his rim, and sinks deep inside with one smooth thrust.

Keith’s body bows, his mouth falling open, fingers curling against the sheets. And it takes all of Lance’s willpower to stay still, to not immediately take Keith by the hips and fuck him into the mattress till he’s gone, but _god_ , the way he feels wrapped around Lance’s dick is making something fierce burn in the center of his stomach.

“Fuck,” Keith rasps, jolting Lance out of his stupor, _“fuck.”_

Lance wants to kiss him again, but he’s torn between feeling those trembling lips against his own and watching every pant, every fluttering eyelid, every moan as he presses deep into Keith’s body, warm and soft and— _fuck_.

Then Keith’s squeezing hard around him, so tight Lance starts to feel like he’s suffocating, and that’s probably Keith’s way of telling him to fucking _move_. But when Lance continues holding himself still, unsure of what to do, blunt nails rake their way down his back. Lance winces at the sting, but his cheeks flame when he realizes that the pain isn’t unwelcome; his cock throbs, and Keith clenches harder.

It’s an issue he’ll think about later when he’s not balls deep inside another guy, but for now he plants his hands beside both of Keith’s shoulders to steady himself as he tests the waters with a shallow thrust.

It has Keith’s neck straining, shoulders pushing into the sheets, hooded eyes dropping shut. He sighs, almost in respite, arms hooking over Lance’s torso, and Lance just stares down at him in wonder. He can’t believe his luck.

He doesn’t even notice that his hips have fallen into a steady rhythm until he hears Keith moan, then again and again and again, each one just that much louder than the last. It’s a sound Lance thinks he can get addicted to; he thinks he probably already is.

Then Keith gasps, loud and shivering across his lips; his body jerks under Lance and he _whines,_ ankles locking tighter tighter _tighter_ until Lance swears every inch of his skin has fused with Keith’s. He guesses that’s the spot, so he adjusts the tilt of his hips to slide inside at that same angle with each thrust.

“God, _fuck me,_ ” slips out somewhere in-between the lewd slap of skin-on-skin and those _noises_ Keith’s making, lilting into a keen when Lance grinds in hard, leaning down to bite a mark into Keith’s perfect pale skin. He can hear himself panting, sweat beading along his chest, and savors the way Keith’s eyelids flutter as he struggles to keep his eyes open, struggles to hold onto at least some control.

But he doesn’t need to, really; they both know exactly who’s in control tonight. Keith’s got Lance wrapped around his finger, has had him like that since the moment they crashed into each other an hour ago. Every breath he takes, every moan that slips past those thin lips has Lance tripping over himself to snag just a whisper between his fingertips before it slips away forever. And Lance would gladly hand over everything he has for this stranger he only knows by one word _—Keith._

It’s a dangerous thought, one that pierces straight through the drunken fog Lance’s been swathed so comfortably in. It brings him back to reality, sobers him enough that his hips falter.

But he doesn’t have much time to panic over whatever the fuck he’s doing, because Keith’s already letting out an impatient noise and pushing Lance off him to press his back into the headboard instead, maneuvering himself over Lance’s body to straddle his waist. Lance blinks owlishly up at him, hands automatically coming to a rest on Keith’s pale hips. He’s not sure what to expect.

He doesn’t have time to even think about asking when Keith’s already blindly reaching behind himself to grasp the base of Lance’s cock, sliding it between his cheeks a few times to tease before rising up on his knees and slipping it back into his hole all in one fluid motion.

Lance nearly chokes on air, fingers unconsciously digging into Keith’s smooth skin, toes curling against the mattress.

Keith flicks an amused look at him, sweeps dark hair off a sweaty forehead, and asks, “How’s it feel?”

Lance stutters; words aren’t coming to him, though he can probably blame that on the way Keith’s rolling his hips down against his, filthy slow.

While Lance’s mouth hangs slack in a moan, Keith leans close to press his lips to the edge of Lance’s jaw, close enough that Lance can hear it when he whispers, “C’mon. Tell me.” Keith sinks all the way down, far enough to rest his ass against Lance’s thighs, and there’s a hitch in his breath when he continues. “‘Cause you feel so good inside me. So deep. Deeper than I’ve ever had it.”

And the thought of Keith with someone else makes something foreign throb in Lance’s chest, dark and piercing and all-consuming. His grip tightens on Keith’s hips to hold him in place and he thrusts up into that heat, open and warm for him, and Keith’s hands scramble helplessly against his chest.

“You wanna know how you feel?” Another hard thrust. “So hot and tight, like you were made for my cock.” Another. “I could stay inside you forever.” Another.

Keith’s head falls back, body shaking, mouth opening around a gasp. Lance watches him with something like fire searing through his gut.

“So good,” Keith says again, dropping his hips down to meet Lance’s every time they push up, and the fire in Lance’s gut burns and burns and burns until he knows he can’t hold on much longer.

Reluctant for this to end, Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s back and pulls him close enough to feel his heart racing against his chest. He pushes his face into the crook of Keith’s neck and inhales so deep he can taste the smell of sex and sweat and _Keith_ in the very back of his throat.

One of Keith’s hands falls from Lance’s shoulder to hook around himself, dipping into his crack. Their eyes lock, hard and burning, just as Keith presses his fingertips along his stretched hole and feels where Lance’s cock is sliding in and out of his body.

Those pale red lips part and Keith’s saying _“Lance, Lance, Lance”_ like it’s the only word he knows and Lance is coming so hard his vision tunnels into black.

When he blinks the last of the blurriness away, Keith’s still rocking down on Lance’s softening cock, all the way until it slips out of his hole. He whines, desperate, and that’s when Lance catches a glimpse of his dick, still hard and shining with precome.

Without thinking too much about it, Lance’s reaching around Keith to pull the condom off and toss it on the floor, then scooting far enough down the headboard that his face is level with Keith’s flushed cock. He opens his mouth, and waits.

Keith groans above him, and Lance hears him swear before he’s pushing his cock into Lance’s mouth. It glides smooth across his tongue, precome easing the way in, and nudges the back of his throat before pulling back.

Lance closes his lips around the head, tongues the underside, tries to remember what Keith had done to him earlier that evening.

Right. He’d just held himself still and let Lance fuck his mouth, and Lance definitely has a fully functional gag reflex and he thinks throwing up now might ruin the mood.

Lance swallows, internally panicking, before figuring that the best thing he can do now is just wing it and hope he doesn’t do something stupid like bite Keith’s dick off. He pulls back enough to let Keith’s cock slip out of his mouth and pushes himself up into a better angle, leaning forward to run his tongue along the hard length and lightly scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin. Keith watches him, eyes dark and expectant, hips nudging forward to rub the tip of his cock against the seam of Lance’s lips.

Getting the message, Lance leans his weight on one elbow to wrap his free hand around the base and hold it steady as he sinks back down on Keith’s cock, going far enough to feel himself start choking around it.

Keith shivers, sliding a hand through Lance’s hair and curving around his jaw to tilt his chin up and get a better look at the way Lance’s mouth stretches to accommodate his length. Aware of this, Lance turns his head to the side enough for the head to push against the inside of his cheek, hiding a smile when he hears Keith groan again. He quietly skims cool fingers over the bulge in Lance’s cheek, and Lance indulges him for a moment before tightening his lips around Keith’s cock as he sucks hard.

Keith swears, hands clenching down hard on Lance’s shoulders, hips stuttering feebly. Lance doesn’t let him finish catching his breath before he’s bobbing his head, jaw aching as it works to take Keith’s cock, tongue stroking the foreskin back on every stroke. Lance watches as Keith starts to lose himself, starts to fall apart, and takes the opportunity to push two fingers into his slick, open hole.

Keith moans like he’s dying, hips bucking so hard Lance nearly chokes when his dick slides too far down his throat. He recovers quickly, swallowing Keith’s cock deeper and pumping his fingers faster, and Keith’s saying, “Oh god, fuck, Lance, _please—_ ” and his hands fall from Lance’s shoulders to twist in the sheets and suddenly he pulls out with a jerk and something wet spurts against the corner of Lance’s mouth and his chin and his neck.

Lance licks his lips, savoring the flushed, wrecked look on Keith’s face, and tastes the bitter tang of Keith’s come.

Keith collapses forward into his chest, still shallowly rocking his hips against Lance’s to drag his orgasm out, little sobbing hiccups escaping him every few seconds. Lance pulls his fingers out of Keith’s clenching hole to rub soothing circles around his rim, middle finger occasionally sinking back inside to feel along those silky-smooth walls.

Eventually Keith whines, too oversensitive, and rolls off Lance’s body into the space next to him.

“Fuck,” Keith groans, throwing an arm over his face, and Lance grins tiredly.

“Yeah.”

They lapse into a heavy silence, one that isn’t quite awkward or comfortable. Uncertain of what to do now that they’re no longer fucking, Lance stares at the light sheen of sweat covering Keith’s skin, at the way his ribcage expands and contracts with every breath.

Lance doesn’t realize he’s been blatantly staring until Keith sighs, lowers his arm, and opens his eyes.

It might be the lighting, or the fact that Lance is just a bit more sober than he was before they’d stumbled into bed together, or even just that he isn’t so focused on getting his dick into Keith anymore, but at that moment Lance realizes Keith’s eyes aren’t just any kind of dark—they’re _purple._

No—not just _purple,_ Lance corrects himself—more like deep, deep violet, or the color of midnight, gorgeous and unreal and _right in front of him._

Lance can’t help himself from reaching out to smooth his thumb over the swell of Keith’s cheek, awestruck, and wonders how he hadn’t noticed in the moments Keith had been naked and pressed close to him.

Keith hums, seems to relax under his touch, and something about that makes his heart throb feebly.

Voice quiet, Lance says, “You have really pretty eyes.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, so stupid that Lance bites his lip in preparation for the scoff that’s bound to come, but Keith’s face remains passive.

“Thanks,” he says, and the heavy silence settles back into place.

Lance trails a finger over the sharp line of Keith’s jaw before pulling his hand back and tucking it under his pillow. Keith watches him, bottom lip caught between his teeth, and when those violet eyes disappear behind pale eyelids Lance can admit he’s sad to see them go.

He falls asleep with the slim curve of Keith’s body etched into his brain and the sweet smell of Keith’s hair lingering under his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!<33 ((comments and kudos are welcomed and appreciated!))
> 
> let me know if u liked/if i should post more of my stuff ??
> 
> hit me up on [tumblr](https://vividley.tumblr.com/) !!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is still ... porn with no plot
> 
> hope you guys like it!

Lance’s head throbs like someone’s pounded a dozen nails into his head overnight, every muscle in his body aching, and he has no idea where the fuck he is. The pillow smothering his face is too thin to be his, the sheets around him tangled uncomfortably by his feet, and that’s when he notices he’s stark naked. With that observation comes the belated memory of what happened last night.

Oh, fuck.

Lance scrambles to pull himself upright, skin itching anxiously, feeling some strange urge to cover himself. He can’t believe he chose to lose his virginity like this—in a seedy motel with a bitch of a hangover.

And—he looks around the empty room—his partner hadn’t even bothered to stick around. _God_ , this is a mess.

Lance groans, cradling his stupid, _stupid_ head in his hands, and drags himself off the bed to start getting dressed. He keeps his chin tucked into his chest like a kicked puppy, cursing alcohol and cocks and Pidge.

Then, as he’s hunting for his left shoe, he catches a glimpse of a scrap of paper placed deliberately in the center of the nightstand, the black scribble of words standing out clearly against the white.

Cautiously, like a wild animal approaching the extended hand of a child, he creeps close enough to see what it is.

_Thanks for last night. 610 778 2391. Keith._

Keith.

Lance lunges forward to grab the note, staring unblinking at the name because until he sees it there, right in front of his face, he’d still been half-convinced yesterday was just another one of his fucked-up dreams. He doesn’t want to think about why it makes his heart throb harder than his brain currently is.

Instead, he shoves the note into his pocket and leaves the room, telling himself he doesn’t need to look back.

 

“Welcome back, _loverboy_.”

Lance does not need this right now.

He closes the door behind him, completely silent, and tries to make the point that he _does not need this right now_.

Unfortunately for him, Pidge has a habit of ignoring his feelings.

“Aw, is Lancey Lance upset?” Pidge pouts, but the gleam in her eye reveals her true intentions.

“Why are you even here?” Lance groans. “I gave you that key for emergencies, you know.” He’s still grimy, still smells like something he doesn’t even want to _know_ , and still feels like he’s just been run over by a truck. Twice. He’s never been this grateful to have parents that work early; he can’t even imagine the amount of questions he’d be forced to answer.

Pidge rolls her eyes, but keeps her mouth shut and goes back to picking at the PB&J in her hand. Lance stands there awkwardly, flitting between heading upstairs for a shower and talking about his feelings with the person who got him into this mess in the first place.

But because Pidge still looks overly affronted, a petulant look on her face, Lance sighs and hauls himself into the kitchen to take a seat at the table.

Pidge eyes him, still wary as she peels the crust from one slice of bread.

“It’s just—” Lance rubs at the nape of his neck, grimacing, unsure of how to explain. “I didn’t think it would go like _this_ , y’know. My—first time.”

Pidge’s brows shoot up to her hairline. “Yeah? What happened?” To Lance’s relief she doesn’t seem to be mocking him. Yet.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Lance says, “it was great. Amazing, even. I just, kind of wanted it to … I don’t know, be with someone I—”

“Liked?” Pidge offers.

Lance lifts his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. He remembers those dark eyes and that pale, pale skin, and says, “Not really. I liked him.” _A lot_ , he doesn’t say. He pauses. “Like, someone I’d been in a relationship with, you know? And then we both decided to sort of give ourselves to each other, so…” He trails off, getting the feeling he’s just rambling nonsense at this point, and stares down at the scratches in the table.

“Yeah,” Pidge says, “I get it.”

Lance nods. Then his phone vibrates in his pocket, making him jump, and a text from Hunk lights the screen. He’s on the way, he reads, and he’d better be ready to go. _Shit_.

As he’s standing up, Keith’s note slips out of his pocket and falls to the floor, and Lance notices too late—Pidge is already reaching down to snag it between her fingers.

“What are y—” Lance cuts himself off as Pidge unfolds the note and backs away from him to read it. “Hey, give it—”

“Ooooh, look at this!” Pidge looks up, grinning, waving the note in Lance’s face like he hasn’t already read it a hundred times. “Guess you’re not hopeless after all.”

Lance frowns at her. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean,” Pidge says pointedly, “he left you his number.”

“Yeah?”

“Never mind. You _are_ hopeless.” Pidge shakes her head in disappointment. “See this? _Thank—you—for—last—night_. And a phone number. He had a good time and he’s looking for another, dumbass.” Pidge glances at the note a second time, grin returning full force. “And—oh, would you look at that. Keith, huh. Hot, wasn’t he?”

Lance can feel the heat creeping up his neck, so he averts his face towards the nearest wall instead.

Without thinking that it might not be a good idea, Lance mutters, “More like beautiful.”

Pidge bursts out laughing, heaving over the table like this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard in her life, and Lance’s cheeks burn harder.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, man,” Pidge wheezes. “It’s just— _wow_. Only you would call a one-night stand beautiful.”

“Something wrong with that?”

Pidge quiets, straightens up to adjust her glasses on the bridge of her nose. She gives Lance a curious look and says, “Not really. It’s…interesting.” Then she purses her lips, seeming to lose herself in thought before shaking it off and moving to drop her empty plate into the sink. “I’m just saying, I’ve never heard of a one-night stand leaving a note and I’ve sure as hell never heard someone call one beautiful before.” She glances over her shoulder, shrugs, and Lance’s throat tightens. “Maybe it’s something to think about, I don’t know.”

Silence filters between them, and Lance is just getting lost in his own jumble of thoughts when Pidge decides now’s a good time to reassume her status of Obnoxious Best Friend.

“No limp, huh?” Pidge snickers. “Can’t believe you topped.”

To Lance’s dismay, Pidge expects the cereal box Lance chucks at her and has already bolted from the room by the time it leaves his hand.

 

Hunk’s not amused when Lance climbs into the car, disheveled and sheepish, Pidge sprawling in the backseat with a smug smile plastered all over her face.

“Sorry,” Lance says, and Hunk makes an exasperated noise.

“What did I say about listening to Pidge?”

Lance sighs, leaning his head into the window glumly. “Don’t.”

“That’s right,” Hunk says in an _I-told-you-so_ voice.

Behind them, Pidge says, “Wrong. My ideas are the best and you know it.”

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Hunk tells her, and, sensing Lance’s misery, reaches over to pat his still-throbbing head in sympathy. “Dude, come on. Lighten up. Finals are over and we are _free!_ I thought we could start our celebration by hitting the arcade, then the movies, then that new Italian place downtown I told you about—”

“Hunk—”

“—it’s really amazing how many different things you can make with cheese—wait a second—what was I saying again? Oh, yeah, and then after that we can catch the game—can you believe I got us those last minute tickets? Talk about luck—”

“Alright, Hunk, can you—”

“—and _then_ we’ll swing by Shiro’s place for the party. Y’know, I think it’s so nice that he invited us even though we’re not a part of his cool college squad. I bet there’s gonna be a load of hot chicks there for you to try your lame pickup lines on.”

Too tired to try interrupting again, Lance settles for giving Hunk a pointed look.

“Oh, oops—I forgot. Hot _guys_.” Hunk flushes, then shoots Lance a lopsided grin.

“And,” Lance says defensively, “my pickup lines are _not_ lame.”

“That’s true,” Pidge pipes up. “They lost him his v-card.”

Lance elects not to tell her that he, in fact, did not use a single one of his lines on Keith. He doesn’t think he would’ve been able to, anyway—it was hard enough to _talk_ around Keith.

Hunk chuckles, shifts gears, and pulls out of the driveway. “Alright buddy, whatever you say. Let’s go.”

They go to every single place on Hunk’s list, albeit a bit out of order, and by the time they arrive at Shiro’s Lance is about ready to collapse. With the events of last night still wearing him down and Hunk and Pidge dragging him to what seems like every corner of the world, the only thing he really wants to do right now is lay down and take a nap. Preferably forever.

But he’s not allowed to do that, at least not yet, because his friends are pumped to get in on what Hunk keeps insisting is going to be a fun, relaxing night and it’s starting to affect Lance, too. Maybe it’ll be good for him to spend some time around new people, people who aren’t Keith.

Yeah. Yeah, this’ll be good for him.

 

They’re late enough that Shiro’s apartment is already brimming with people when they walk inside, chattering idly and swaying to the music pumping through the rooms.

Pidge immediately spots Shiro and waves to him excitedly, grin splitting her face in half, and Lance cranes his neck to peer across the hall curiously.

“Hey guys,” Shiro greets, smiling. “Glad you could make it.”

“Yeah. You look great, dude,” Hunk says.

“Nice party,” Lance adds, and the four of them delve into easy conversation. It’s nice talking to Shiro again; ever since he left for college two years ago, it hasn’t been the same, and keeping in touch is hard when you’re only meeting up every few months at gatherings like this.

They’ve barely been talking for more than five minutes when someone to the right of Lance says, in a bored voice, “Shiro, where’s the ice?”

Lance never finds out where the ice is, because when he turns to see who’s asking he loses the ability to think, speak, and even breathe because no way, no _fucking_ way. Everything around him blurs and fades into nothing until it’s just—

“You guys know my brother, right?” Shiro grabs a pale arm before its owner can slink away, and dark eyes flick to the ceiling with a sigh. “Keith.”

Lance’s mouth drops open.

 _Oh god oh my god fuck fuck fuck what the fuck_ —

“Oh yeah, hey Keith,” Hunk grins, because apparently the universe hates Lance, and oh my god, fuck, _Keith_ —of course Lance had known Shiro had a brother named Keith but how was he supposed to have known he was _this_ Keith?

Keith holds his hand out for Hunk to shake, then Pidge, and is about to offer it to Lance when he freezes upon seeing who it is. But his eyes—oh my god, those fucking _eyes_ —only widen minutely before a blank expression slips over his face. His hand hovers in midair, wavering, then falls to his side.

“Yeah,” Keith says, and somehow his voice is as blank as his face, “we’ve met.”

“Really?” Shiro looks between the two of them, completely unaware of Lance’s newfound urge to turn around and bolt from the room and spend the rest of his life banging his head against a wall.

Fuck, is he stupid.

“Yeah,” Keith says again, crossing his arms and pursing his lips and scuffing his feet along the floor. “At, um. The library.” He looks so uncomfortable Lance almost starts feeling bad for him instead of for himself.

“The library, my ass,” Pidge mutters, and Lance shoves an elbow into her side to shut her up, face burning like fever. He’s never felt this hot in his life, not even when he had Keith sitting on his—

 _Nope_ , he tells himself. _Not a good idea_.

“Well, I’m gonna go get that ice,” Keith says. “Nice meeting you all.” And then he’s gone.

Hunk glances at Lance, then at Pidge, who looks so pleased with herself Lance doesn’t even bother glaring, and says, “So, I don’t know what happened, but I’m just not gonna ask.”

“Please don’t.” Lance isn’t surprised to feel his headache returning full-force.

“Then I guess I won’t, either,” Shiro jokes, trying to revive their easy conversation, but confusion still tinges his voice. Even Lance isn’t quite sure what’s going on anymore, so with a strained smile he quickly excuses himself to the bathroom. Hunk gives him a concerned look, probably preparing to follow him and find out what’s going on, but before he can Lance is already making his way out of the room.

It takes him a minute to find the bathroom, but when he does he paces the empty space in front of the locked door and wonders what the hell his life has become.

He fucked Shiro’s little brother. He _inadvertently_ fucked Shiro’s little brother and he should never be allowed out of his room ever again.

Lance groans aloud, dragging his hands through his hair, and leans heavily against the wall in his distress. He groans again when he hears someone walking down the hall towards him, because apparently finding the peace to beat himself up is also impossible.

“Hi again.”

Lance jerks away from the wall, his flailing making Keith’s pretty eyes go wide, and fumbles to smooth himself out before he can make a fool of himself. Again.

“Hey,” he squeaks, and Keith quirks a brow at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lance insists, “I just—really, _really_ have to go.” _Nice one._

Keith nods and folds his arms across his chest and looks down at the floor. Locks of dark hair fall like a curtain over his face.

That’s when Lance realizes he doesn’t quite recognize the Keith in front of him. Gone are the flirting looks and the shameless smiles and the beckoning fingers—without the pounding music and the flashing lights around them, Keith is a different person and Lance isn’t sure what to do with him.

This Keith holds himself still, almost protectively, like he’s trying to defend himself from an attack he’s sure is coming. He’s quiet, and tense, and irresistible because _fuck_ he still has all that pale, pale skin and those dark midnight eyes and that breathy rasp of a voice, and before he knows it Lance is already opening his mouth to speak against his better judgement.

“So,” he says, “this is kind of a mess, huh?”

Keith’s eyes flash to his, lingering for a moment before he seems to realize he’s looking and turns his head away. But Lance can see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and somehow that makes something like pride blossom in his chest.

“Yeah, kind of.” Keith hesitates; his arms wrap tighter around him. “But it wasn’t—I don’t…” He bites down on his lip, rolls it between his teeth, and Lance remembers how it felt to trace that lip with his tongue.

“You don’t…?” Lance prompts.

Keith’s voice dips down into a whisper. “Regret it. I don’t—regret it.”

“O-oh,” Lance stutters, and how Keith can transform him into this stumbling, awkward loser just by standing in front of him is beyond him. Despite his inexperience, Lance still prides himself on being a smooth, suave individual—he’s hit it off with both guys and girls up until he figured out the latter just didn’t do it for him.

Keith, on the other hand, doesn’t just _do it_ for him. Keith lights his fucking blood on fire and sends his heart into overdrive and brings him back to the moments he spent _inside him_ —

“Do you?” Keith asks, interrupting Lance’s increasingly filthy thoughts, and Lance jumps.

“No! No, of course I don’t.”

“I know I was a little—out there, but—”

“No, no,” Lance shakes his head vigorously, “I really liked it. You were really hot.”

Keith laughs, a sudden burst of mirth, and Lance is startled into laughing right along with him.

“Oh, my god, I still can’t believe we did that.” Keith’s smiling now, and the corners of it dent his cheeks in a way that has Lance reeling because no one should be allowed to be that fucking cute.

“Yeah,” Lance smirks, “hell of a night.”

Keith hums his agreement, shifting against his wall, and Lance sees a splash of pink on each pale cheek.

Maybe that’s what spurs Lance on, what gives him enough courage to add, “And you left me your number.” He watches Keith carefully for any signs of discomfort, but Keith just continues shuffling in place, dark hair masking his expression from view. Lance itches with the urge to push it behind his ears.

“Yeah.” There’s a slight bob in his throat as he swallows. “Kind of hard to hook up again without some sort of communication.”

Lance’s world tilts sideways. “Again?”

“Well, yeah.” Keith finally looks up, gaze locking with Lance’s, and seeing him flush makes Lance’s heart beat hard against his ribs. “I’m not going to lie, last night was…pretty amazing. I guess I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind spending another with you.”

Lance can’t believe what he’s hearing, but because _holy shit_ this is happening he steps closer to Keith and says, “I’d like that.”

Keith smiles again, arms finally slipping out of their firm clasp across his chest to rest placidly by his sides. Lance knows what it means, so he takes that extra step forward for his mouth to touch Keith’s.

Keith immediately presses into it, lips parting against Lance’s, and suddenly Lance has a hard time breathing because Keith is touching him again, running warm hands up his back and over the curve of his shoulder and he never _never_ could have imagined this would be happening again, let alone so soon, but fuck if he’s complaining.

The first touch of Keith’s tongue to his mouth is soft, almost shy, and Lance welcomes it eagerly—maybe too eagerly, but he figures he should start getting used to the fact that Keith brings it out of him. He touches Keith’s arm and the stretch of skin along his collarbones and the delicate curve of his neck, and when Keith’s next breath staggers into a soft moan his cock twitches with interest.

The telltale sound of a toilet flushing sends them scrambling apart, wide-eyed and flushed as they’re abruptly forced from their dirty little bubble. Through the pounding of his heart, Lance hears the click of the door unlocking, and in the next second a young woman slips out of the bathroom, giving them both an odd look before making her way down the hall.

There’s a beat of silence between the moment she disappears around the corner and the moment Keith grabs Lance’s wrist and practically drags him into the empty bathroom, struggling to close the door and successfully lock it when they’re pressed so close. But he does it, and when he turns around Lance doesn’t give him a second to rest before he’s reaching out to pull him in for another sloppy, off-centered kiss. Lance swallows Keith’s surprised gasp, fingers tangling in the soft tufts of hair at his nape, and takes satisfaction in the way he melts into him, so responsive and warm and good for Lance.

The bathroom’s small, so small that Lance knocks several items off the counter on accident just by pressing Keith back into it, though with Keith’s kisses falling hot on his mouth and Keith’s body rolling deliberately against his he can’t be bothered to even consider stopping to pick anything off the floor right now. Lance can feel him everywhere—so close they are that Lance can hardly tell where he ends and Keith begins.

Wandering fingers creep their way under his shirt to splay across his abdomen, smoothing warmth across his skin, and Lance can’t stop his hips from rocking blindly into Keith’s. It’s completely instinctual, driven by the raw _desire_ smoldering through him, and for a second he isn’t sure it’s okay until he feels Keith pushing against him in return, teeth snagging his lip, body shivering with a single moan. They clutch at each other, at clothes and skin and breaths of pleasure like letting go will make this moment disappear.

“Fuck, _Keith_ ,” Lance gasps out between the push and pull of their bodies, a constant wave of delirium and heat.

“Do it,” Keith says into his mouth, and when Lance lets his hand fall lower, lower, lower to brush against Keith’s ass he presses back into it like it’s second fucking nature.

“What?”

Keith leans back just far enough to trail those pretty kiss-swollen lips down the length of Lance’s neck, swiping his tongue once over the fluttering pulse he finds there.

“You should fuck me,” he says.

Lance makes a mortifying sound in the back of his throat. “Fuck, _fuck_ , Keith—you can’t just—”

“Why not?”

Lance whimpers, hands shaking where they clasp at Keith’s hips, and when Keith bites at his skin—teasing, almost playful—Lance knows he’s smiling.

“Again? You sure?” Lance asks, not because he doesn’t want to ( _holy fuck_ does he want to) but because they went at it pretty hard last night and he’s not sure how sore Keith is and if it’s better for them to just indulge in two messy handjobs and call it a night.

But all of Lance’s logic and reason is quickly thrown out the window when Keith slides his hand down the front of Lance’s jeans. Those dark eyes gleam at him, and Lance chokes on a moan as he grabs at Keith’s arm.

Keith’s only response is to squeeze him through his boxers and whisper, voice grating low and hot and smooth, “Fuck, _yes_. I can still feel you, you know. Every time I move it reminds me of how fucking _good_ you stretched me out on your cock.”

“Yeah?” Lance groans because he’s a weak, weak man and with Keith curving his tongue along the shell of his ear like that, so hot and wet and perfect, who can blame him for crumbling?

“Mm,” Keith hums, skates his fingers over the wet tip of Lance’s cock, “I’m still loose from it.”

Lance shudders, drunk on this feeling of Keith on him and around him and all over him and yet he needs _more more more_ —

“Come on,” Keith purrs, voice dripping honey, and now his hand is stroking down Lance’s cock and that’s when he snaps.

He takes ahold of Keith’s hips to turn him around and press him down over the sink, bending over him to mold their bodies together.

“You want me to fuck you right now?” he bites the words out, arousal clotting his throat and making it hard to think about anything other than utterly wrecking the body under his. “Here? You’re that desperate for it?”

Keith nods; Lance can feel the stutter of his heartbeat.

“Alright. But you’ve gotta be quiet,” another nod, “‘specially with everyone just down the hall.” Keith fucking _whimpers_ , and Lance has to clench his jaw in an effort to suppress his own moan because just the thought of taking Keith in a place like this—a place so tight and messy and _open_ —isn’t doing his self-control any favors.

“Okay,” Lance mutters to himself, “okay. Lube, we need—”

“Shiro keeps some in here,” Keith says, already squirming out from under Lance to start yanking drawers open.

“And condoms.” Lance deflates. There’s no way—

“Also in here.”

“Do I even want to know?” Lance laughs, and when he sees Keith’s mouth twitch up into a smile he adds, “High libido probably runs in the family.”

The sharp jab to his side is more than worth it to see that smile bloom into a full-blown grin.

“Shut up and help me look.”

“Yes, sir,” Lance says importantly, and finally joins the hunt.

Keith ends up elbowing him in the face several times and Lance nearly falls over when his pants slip too far down his thighs and he definitely has more than a few bruises on his feet, but for all his suffering they do eventually find both lube and condoms stashed in the far back of the last drawer. Keith holds them up with a triumphant _“aha!”_ and a pleased look on his face, and Lance laughs at him until he’s silenced by what are quickly becoming his favorite pair of lips.

“Stop fooling around,” Keith says, working at the zipper of his own pants and pushing them all the way down to his ankles, “we’ve gotta hurry. Someone might come looking for us.” Then Keith’s turning his attention to fumbling with Lance’s clothes, shoving them out of the way to stroke Lance’s cock back to full hardness, and Lance figures Keith is probably right and this is probably a good time to start participating.

This time, he also has a hard time with the lube and almost drops it twice before managing to rub enough of it over his fingers. And really, it isn’t even his fault— _Keith_ is the one who should be blamed, of course, because come on. It’s pretty hard to concentrate when you’ve got an incredibly sexy guy jerking you off at the same time.

He waits for Keith to roll the condom on, fast in a way that only points to experience, and shoves down a sudden flare of insecurity because none of them needs that right now.

“Turn around?” Lance suggests instead, since it’s hard to reach Keith’s ass at this angle, and Keith immediately turns to brace himself over the sink again. His back curves, hips nudging back in a silent invitation.

Lance presses himself along the long line of Keith’s body, tucks his nose into the corner of his jaw. He takes a breath, slipping his fingers into the shadow of Keith’s cleft, searching, and when he finds it skirts lightly around the rim of Keith’s hole.

Keith makes a frustrated noise, pushes down _just so_ , and Lance bites the inside of his cheek as his index finger sinks all the way into Keith’s warm, warm body.

“You weren’t kidding,” Lance says, voice shaking, because holy fuck is that hot. He can _feel_ how loose Keith is, how much easier it is to pull his finger out and push it back in, and _fuck_ —he’s still slick from the lube they used last time.

“Another,” Keith demands, but like Lance his voice doesn’t sound too steady. “I can take it.”

Lance believes him, adding a second and a third finger in quick succession because with the way Keith’s panting, breath hitching terribly as he tries to keep himself from making too much noise, Lance thinks that if he doesn’t get his cock inside Keith in the next two minutes he’s actually going to die. He’s going to die with his pants around his thighs and his fingers in Keith’s ass and he’s probably going to like it.

“Okay, enough,” Keith snaps, throwing an arm out behind himself to swat at Lance’s hand. _“Fuck me.”_

Lance grins at Keith’s obvious impatience, gripping his cock around the base to line himself up.

“Gladly,” he says, and pushes inside.

A strangled moan spills from Keith’s lips, too loud in such a small space, and Keith drops his face into the crook of his arm in a desperate attempt to stifle it. His thighs tense against Lance’s, quivering slightly under the pressure, and Lance wraps both hands around his hips to keep him upright as he bottoms out.

Swearing, Lance presses his forehead to the back of Keith’s neck, squeezes his eyes shut—Keith is so much tighter and hotter and wetter around him than he was last night, and Lance isn’t sure if it’s because this time he’s one hundred percent sober or because this time they’re in such a risky spot. Either way, it doesn’t matter; Lance’s entire world has tapered down to Keith and his muffled moaning and the overwhelming heat of sex.

“Fucking—can you move?” Keith hisses, rocking back the best he can while pinned between Lance and the counter.

“Anything for you, princess.” Before Keith can slap him—and Lance is certain he will—Lance pulls his hips back only to snap them forward again, as fast and hard as he can manage within this small space, and whatever Keith had planned to do in retaliation is entirely forgotten as he groans under the force of it.

“Quiet,” Lance reminds him, sinking his own teeth into the pale skin of Keith’s neck to keep his own noises to a minimum as he fucks into him again and again and again, nearly losing the fight of keeping his eyes open against the pleasure sparking at the base of his spine with each thrust.

He watches the way Keith’s entire body jolts underneath his, watches the way sweat collects over his neck, watches the way his fingers scratch uselessly against the mirror—he _revels_ in it, in the fact that he can make Keith fall apart like this, struggling for some way to stay silent as Lance fucks him open.

“Lance,” Keith gasps, breath punching out of him, and Lance’s fingers tighten around his hips as he drives in even harder because hearing Keith say his name like that—like he’s the only thing that matters and the only thing that will ever matter—is something that makes his heart clench painfully in his chest.

A loud knock at the door has them both freezing in place.

“Excuse me?” a voice bleeds into the room, muffled but clearly annoyed. “Is someone in there? I’ve gotta piss.”

Lance lifts his head from Keith’s nape to glance into the mirror, panicked gaze locking with Keith’s hazy one. For a long moment they stand there, staring unblinking at each other, Lance’s dick still buried to the hilt inside Keith. Then Keith’s mouth ticks up into a smile, his body shifting under Lance’s, and Lance nearly bites through his tongue when Keith rolls back into him like nothing’s wrong.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, _no_.

It’s so dirty and so fucking _wrong_ and Lance’s hips are already twitching forward without a second thought. Keith’s smile widens like he’s just won something, pretty eyes fluttering, ass still working back and forth over Lance’s cock, and Lance throws caution to the wind because fuck if he’s going to let Keith have all the fun.

He meets Keith’s little rocking movements with careful thrusts of his own, just enough to send heat flickering through his groin, and when he cants his hips up slightly Keith lets out a moan so loud it fucking _echoes_ off the walls.

Lance quickly slaps a hand over Keith’s mouth, heart leaping in part fear and part excitement, the rhythm of his hips speeding up almost urgently until they’re right back where they started, fucking fast and hard and desperate against the counter without even the slightest bit of shame.

With his free hand, Lance grips mindlessly at one of Keith’s thighs, hiking it up onto the counter so he can push closer and closer and closer until Keith _quakes_ from how deep he’s reaching inside him.

“Fuck, just like that,” Keith breathes, the words breaking apart in his mouth because of how absolutely ruined he is from the way Lance is fucking him, tearing him apart with just his cock. “I’m so close.”

Lance presses open-mouthed kisses into the soft skin of Keith’s neck, flushed a deep pink and straining hard as he pants and whines and moans into the palm of Lance’s hand, completely rampant now that they’ve both opted to ignore the fact that they are still in a very public place. Lance wraps his hand around Keith’s cock where it lays weeping against his navel, roughly stroking him off, and then Keith’s shuddering, spine arcing, incoherent words tumbling from his lips as he comes hard over himself and the counter and Lance’s fingers.

And the sight of Keith’s face in the mirror—mouth hanging slack, eyes rolling back, back, back, strands of hair plastered to his cheeks and forehead by sweat—is more than enough to send Lance toppling over the edge, finishing with one, two, three more thrusts and a long, drawn-out moan and one last twitch of his hips against Keith’s ass.

They slump against one another, panting quietly and basking in a short but satisfying afterglow, blinking until the room around them returns enough for them to stand upright.

Lance pulls back, groaning lowly at the feeling of his cock slipping out of Keith’s body, and indulges himself on the image of Keith’s slick, reddened hole clenching around nothing before he steps away to peel the condom off to toss it into the wastebasket.

He grabs a wad of toilet paper to wipe his hand clean, then throws that away too, and turns to watch Keith prop a hip against the counter and tug his pants back up.

“Just as good as last time, I presume?” Lance says cockily, and smirks when Keith looks at him, but the way his heart batters hard against his ribcage belies his confidence.

“Mm, just as good,” Keith murmurs. He rearranges his hair, wipes the sweat from his neck, and adds, “Maybe even better.”

Keith unlocks the door, pushes it open just enough to peer into the hall. Once he’s confirmed it’s empty, he steps outside, and pauses to toss one last look over his shoulder.

“Like you said, you have my number,” Keith says.

Lance nods, heart creeping into his throat.

“Call me.” Keith walks away, leaving the door open, and Lance grins to himself.

Maybe he will.

 

When he finally finds Hunk and Pidge, who are disappointed and delighted with him, respectively, he realizes he isn’t even sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed !!
> 
> comments and kudos are very much appreciated :)
> 
> come talk to me on [tumblr](https://vividley.tumblr.com/) !!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh i'm so sorry this is late, i got hit with a serious case of writer's block but i hope you guys enjoy this!

Lance did not think this through.

It hadn’t been so bad the first two times, and Lance had only started to notice it on their fifth night together, an insistent scratching at the back of his mind. Unfortunately he’d neglected to examine it, allowed that scratching to grow and grow and grow until it ripped at his every thought and broke every one of his illusions apart.

It’s now, when he’s already lost count of how many times him and Keith have fallen into bed with each other, that Lance realizes he’s really fucked up.

Wiping the sweat from his face, Lance lolls his head to the side just in time to catch a glimpse of Keith’s pretty eyes just before they vanish with a faint flutter of dark lashes. He watches the slim curve of Keith’s lips as they part for breath, the dark bruises littering his long, trim neck, the wisp of dark hair that falls so perfectly against the bridge of his nose.

And if his own breath stutters and maybe even stops for one long second then that’s no one’s business but his own.

Keith opens his eyes again, biting at the corner of his mouth, and Lance quickly averts his eyes to the wall behind him. His heart kicks hard in protest.

“Mm, that was nice,” Keith murmurs, shifting until Lance feels the weight of his arm pressing against his side.

“Yeah.” Lance locks up, tries to think of what to say next because he should definitely be saying something else now but when Keith is this close to him, so close that all Lance can think about is how easy it would be to lean past those two inches and just _kiss him_ —

“I—guess I should get going, then,” Keith says, slowly untangling himself from Lance, slowly inching himself off the bed, and Lance bites back the urge to pull Keith back into his chest and keep him there forever.

“Oh. A-alright.” Lance hopes the smile he plasters over his face isn’t too shaky.

It doesn’t matter, anyway, because Keith is already heading for the clothes that lie scattered in the corner of the room. Lance wrestles with the memory of how it had felt to peel them off him, one by one, when all he had to worry about was how fast he could get his hands on that pale, pale skin, until it washes over him and down his throat and into his veins.

He opens his mouth, preparing to suggest that this time Keith should maybe possibly consider staying over—because where’s the harm in that, right?—but something about watching Keith pull his shirt back on, back to Lance, makes the words die before they’ve even touched his tongue.

So Lance remains still and silent on his bed, head pillowed atop his folded arms, and does his very best to ignore the way the black of Keith’s hair kisses the white of his shoulders every time he moves.

Once he’s all dressed, Keith reaches for the doorknob, and Lance’s heart hangs in the space between. Then he pauses, glances back, eyes hesitant and almost lost. Lance gazes back at him, just as hesitant and just as lost.

“See you tomorrow?” Keith says eventually, head cocked slightly.

“Sure.” Lance grins, knows it’s strained, and Keith gives him a tight-lipped smile in return. “I—I’ll text you.”

Keith nods, and Lance sees his smile drop away as soon as he turns to leave. When he does, Lance buries his face into his pillow and groans out loud.

No, he didn’t think this through.

 

And yet when Keith comes over again tomorrow, and again on Wednesday, and again on Saturday, Lance doesn’t think to do anything but let Keith kiss him and touch him and when it’s all over he lets him leave, the whisper of his voice pressed into Lance’s ears and the hue of his eyes stamped into his memory.

It’s amazing up until the point it isn’t, up until Lance remembers that this is temporary and that Keith isn’t really _his_ and that when their breathing evens out and their sweat dries Keith is going to vanish from his life until the next time one of them decides they’re horny. But it should be enough—Lance tells himself it’s _enough_. It’s enough because he’s _ecstatic_ —really, he is—that his gorgeous one-night stand has become a regular hookup and he’s getting ass at least thrice a week and…

He definitely shouldn’t be complaining. He shouldn’t, and still there’s this twinge in his chest whenever Keith shows up at his door, and fuck isn’t he pathetic, pining over someone he technically already has.

Lance glares down at his phone, at the last message he sent, at the evidence of how gone he is for Keith, for his pale skin and his dark, dark eyes.

Because Keith is unattainable, something to admire and to indulge in and to desire, not something to—to—

Not something to love.

The doorbell rings, and—as always—Lance drops everything to answer.

 

Keith seems happy enough to see him. He always does, and for a moment Lance can pretend that Keith is here for _him_ and that they have something precious and healthy and real.

But they don’t, and it shouldn’t matter, not when Keith presses him into the wall and molds their lips together and Lance loses himself to it like drops of rain in an ocean. He forgets why this is a bad idea, tunes out the perpetual nagging at the back of his mind, and lets himself fall into this familiar routine of leading Keith into his room and smoldering his heart whenever it pushes against his chest.

They go slow and fast, hard and soft, and it’s always too much and not enough. Lance thinks he might be drowning.

Drowning or not, Lance seals it all away into the recesses of his mind because he has to, at least while Keith is here. He can smile and murmur and follow Keith’s movements until they inevitably stop, until only the walls of his room can see it when he admits he isn’t really okay with whatever’s happening here.

In the end, it’s the way his name rolls off Keith’s lips that breaks him down.

It’s not the way Keith’s body fits against his like they’re two pieces of the same puzzle and it’s not the way his eyes fall shut and his mouth drops open on every gasping moan Lance pulls from him. It’s not even the way Keith looks afterwards, when that cloud of contentment passes over his face and he glows under it like he’s made out of magic. Because these are things he thinks he could get used to, things he could learn to block out with time and a little practice.

But when he hears his name slip out into the space around them, stained with Keith’s voice and all its breathy desire, Lance is reminded of why he’s never going to win this battle. It’s dangerous in how it pulls Lance back in, jolting him back to reality where he’s aware of every little thing Keith is doing to him—tearing him down and building him back up, over and over and over again in a cruel, vicious cycle.

And Lance can only watch, helpless, as stars fall from Keith’s lips and pour like a waterfall into his heart.

 

“I think,” Pidge says, “that you should ask him out.”

“Who?” Lance has never been good at playing nonchalant, and this time is no different; Pidge just grins knowingly, kicking her feet up over the arm of her chair and tapping a finger against her mouth.

“I’d recommend you start small,” she continues. “Take him to the movies first, then work your way up from there.”

“I never asked for your advice,” Lance says, and Pidge laughs.

“At this point, I’m pretty sure you need it.” Lance is too proud to admit she’s right, that he’s overwhelmed and completely out of his depth with all these new things he’s feeling.

Lance groans, slumping back into his seat and dragging his hands over his face. “ _No_ , Pidge. Can we please talk about something else? _Anything_ else? I’ll pay you.”

“I thought you liked him,” Pidge says, because ignoring everything Lance says is undoubtedly what she does best.

“I do,” Lance mutters, tipping his head down to avoid Pidge’s inquisitive stare.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Frustration prickles at the back of his throat. “It’s not that I don’t _want_ to take him out,” he tells her, and cringes at the familiar twinge in his chest. “Trust me, I do—it’s just…”

His gaze wavers when it drifts back to Pidge. She’s looking at him over the rim of her glasses, fingers interlocked under her chin, listening so intently Lance worries if she’s going sprain something.

“I don’t know if _he_ wants to.” He hesitates. “Date me, I mean,” he clarifies rather unnecessarily, and Pidge throws an exasperated look over him.

“You’ll never know unless you ask,” she points out.

“Sure,” Lance shrugs, “but what if he doesn’t? Then we’ll get all awkward and ruin what we have now, and I don’t really want to risk that.”

“What _do_ you have?” Pidge asks, still watching him with that curious look on her face, and Lance doesn’t quite know what to say. How can he be expected to respond to a question he’s already thought about a million times over and still hasn’t come up with anything close to an answer?

When Lance remains silent, Pidge says, “That’s what I thought,” and turns back to her book, leaving Lance to simmer in the uncertainty her words have left behind.

 

“This is such a bad idea.” Lance scans the all-too-familiar building in front of him, grimacing, wondering if he should just make a run for it. “ _Such_ a bad idea. I don’t think I should—”

“Relax,” Pidge says, too confident for Lance to take her seriously, and continues her way down the street. Lance trails after her reluctantly, hands shoved deep inside his pockets, and gives the club another dubious look.

“Come on, Pidge. He’s probably not even in there.”

“He is,” Pidge insists.

“How do you know?”

“Shiro may have mentioned.”

Lance scoffs, “ _Mentioned_ , or—”

But Pidge is already shoving him towards the door, completely disregarding Lance’s protests, and when exactly had she decided to dictate his entire life?

“You are the _worst_ ,” Lance declares. “If you think that I—”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Pidge says, giving him one last push that sends Lance lurching forward dangerously. “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

Lance rights himself, handing the ID he hasn’t touched since the last time he was here over to the man standing in front of him, and throws one last glare over his shoulder before striding through the door and straight into last month.

The lights are the same as he remembers, and so is the music. Even the people are the same, with their skin-tight clothes and stretches of bare skin glimmering on the dancefloor.

Bodies press against him from all sides, some accidentally and some intentionally, a constant stream of adrenaline and heat. He pushes past every single one of them, the pounding of his heart growing with each step he takes, the sound of it ringing through his ears and roaring through his blood. Anticipation, strong and unabating, builds inside him until he almost forgets what he’s here for.

His fingers twist into the hem of his jacket, tugging nervously, and he thinks that maybe he should be drunk for this. But he dismisses that thought just as fast as it came to him—if he’s going to be running into Keith again, he can’t afford to be thinking anything but clearly. God knows he’s going to be having a hard enough time as it is.

And fuck, he hasn’t even thought about what to say even if he _does_ end up finding Keith. He’s screwed. He’s screwed to hell and back and he can’t for the life of him figure out how Pidge managed to get him in here not once, but _twice_.

And then—a flash of white and black and red from the corner of his eye, and Lance turns to see Keith sitting at one of the many tables lining the edges of the club, alone, a half-empty glass dangling from his hand. For a minute or two Lance stands there, on the outskirts of the crowd, staring past everything and everyone until it’s just him and Keith left in the world. Eventually he swallows his nerves down, tosses his inhibitions over his shoulder, and steps up to Keith’s table.

“Hey,” he says, “you come here often?”

Keith’s eyes are wary when they leave his drink and flicker upward. Lance shifts, has to strain to keep his friendly smile in place, and nearly sags in relief when Keith recognizes him and that wariness fades to something akin to warmth.

“Very funny,” Keith says, the side of his mouth hooking upwards, and Lance laughs softly.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it.” Lance shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he contemplates his next move. He could ask Keith to dance, or buy him another drink, or get a drink himself—

“Are you gonna sit down or what?”

Lance jumps a little. “Oh yeah, sure,” he says, hasty, and takes the seat across from Keith. Tapping an idle rhythm out onto the surface of the table, he clears his throat to continue—“So … I know I was joking before, but in all seriousness, do you usually come here on your free nights?”

Keith shrugs, “Not really. It’s just for some fun.” He casts an amused look over Lance, lip quirking up again. “You?”

Lance shakes his head immediately. “Nah. This is only my second time here, and I don’t really want to get caught using a fake ID.”

“And you’ve run into me both times?” Keith grins, eyes dark and teasing, and Lance grins back.

“Literally, that first time,” Lance recalls, and his stomach dips when Keith laughs, moving just that much closer.

“Yeah, that wasn’t fun. I’d planned on decking you until I saw how attractive you were.”

“Oh? So you think I’m attractive, do you?” Lance waggles his eyebrows; his face is starting to ache with how much he’s smiling.

“Well,” Keith cocks his head to the side, “I don’t know who wouldn’t.”

Lance freezes, heat blooming across his face. Oh, fuck, what’s he supposed to say to something like that?

Seeming to sense his internal panic, Keith lets his gaze drop. Carefully, he traces the rim of his glass with the tip of his finger. “Where do you go to pick up guys, then, if not here?”

Nervous laughter brims in Lance’s chest; he pulls at the collar of his shirt. “Considering you were the first person I’ve ever had the honor of ‘ _picking up_ ,’ I don’t think—”

“First?” Lance looks up to find Keith rigid in his seat, brows arching almost comically high.

“Yeah?”

“No fucking way.” Keith gapes at him, mouth hanging slack, eyes wide in astonishment. “You’re shitting me. You are _so_ shi—”

“Nope. First kiss, too.” Lance thinks he can safely say that this moment of watching Keith’s expression warp in unimaginable proportions is the one good thing that’s resulted from his vast inexperience.

Leaning over the table, Keith levels one pale finger and a glare at him. It’s threatening, and should be scary, but Lance finds himself trying to hold his grin back instead of shrinking away. “This isn’t funny, Lance. I’m—”

“—serious? Yeah, me too.”

For Keith, that’s when the truth sinks in, and he retreats back to his side of the table with a mortified groan.

“Why didn’t—why didn’t you _tell me?”_ he hisses, holding an arm over his face as if to shield himself. Lance thinks he could get used to this version of Keith—nervous and blushing and absolutely _endearing_.

Lance lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I guess it didn’t occur to me at the time.” It most definitely did, but he decides that’s a fact Keith doesn’t need to know.

Keith eyes Lance from under his arm, lips pressed together in a thin, pale line.

“You—if it was your first time, you should’ve had someone…”

“What, better?” Lance grins, tilted and giddy. “I think you were pretty damn good.”

“Me? You’re one of those fucking sex gods,” Keith mutters, voice tinged with awe and disbelief and a little bit of envy.

“If I am, then you bring it out in me.”

Keith’s teeth snag at his lower lip; his eyes darken until they’re black even as a beam of light passes above.

“Come on,” he says, standing abruptly from his chair, “let’s go.” He turns and motions for Lance to follow.

Keith leads him outside, where the rush of cold air against his face knocks him far enough back to remember what his original plan was. Before he has the chance to think about it too much, he reaches out to wrap his hand around Keith’s wrist to stop him from walking into the street to hail a cab for them.

“I was thinking,” Lance starts once Keith turns to look at him, “instead of—um, we could head to my place and—and talk, or something.” Fuck, that’s lame. He racks his useless _useless_ brain for something else and that’s when Pidge’s advice comes rushing back to him. “Or, like, watch a movie.” He waits, hanging onto the way Keith’s lips part, and close, and part again.

“I-I wouldn’t—”

“Sure, yeah. No problem.” Lance grimaces, hooking a hand around the back of his neck and staring intently at a bright neon sign across the street. “I kinda expected it since you’re gorgeous and so out of my league and you probably don’t wanna go out with someone like me anyway, but I guess I should—I mean—thanks for everything, it was really cool being with you even if—”

“Lance.”

At the sound of his name Lance closes his mouth so fast his teeth clack together. He blinks, refocusing, cheeks instantly staining red. Had he been rambling again? He’d— _Fuck_ , he can’t do anything right.

But Keith is looking at him, lips turned upward in a way that reminds Lance of a dream, and standing much closer than Lance remembers.

“Let me finish. I was just going to say that I wouldn’t mind that,” Keith says, pretty eyes crinkling around the edges when that smile grows and grows until he’s grinning. The sparse lights lining this side of the road make thin shadows dance across his face and his neck and Lance doesn’t think anyone’s ever looked this beautiful.

“A movie sounds nice,” Keith continues. A lock of dark hair blows over his mouth; a pale hand brushes it away. “Talking, too.”

“O-oh,” Lance says, grasping for something among his scattered thoughts, “that’s—good. Yeah.” He takes a sharp breath, aware he’s done nothing but make a tremendous fool of himself, and tries to understand why Keith is still smiling at him like—like _that._

Like he just might feel the same. Like Lance might have a chance.

His chest feels so full he thinks he could burst. “I mean—great, because I really like you, and now that I think about it I’m pretty sure we can—”

Cool fingers press against his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

“You talk a lot,” Keith notes, but Lance barely hears him over the sound of his own heartbeat and the way Keith’s drawing his fingers back to replace them with the soft touch of his lips. Ironically, this kiss—soft and sweet and so very real—is the one to shake the core of Lance’s world and steal the breath from his lungs.

“I like you too,” Keith says with all the deep purple of his eyes and the light of his smile, and Lance relaxes against him.

It’s long overdue, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you thought! all comments and kudos are greatly appreciated !! <33
> 
> come talk to me on [tumblr](https://vividley.tumblr.com/) !!


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